The Seance in Apartment 10

by Ambrose Ibsen

  Returning to my side, I squeezed my eyes shut. There would be no more looking out across the dark room to see how the darkness might play tricks on me. Shuddering all the while and breaking into a light sweat for the warmth, I pulled the sheet up to my shoulder and kept my eyes closed till sleep eventually overcame me. All the while, I repeated a simple mantra in my head. There's nothing to be scared of. Nothing to be scared of. Nothing...

  “Do you want to read it again?”

  I exhaled, stretched. Someone was speaking to me; I could hear them close-by, though the voice was muffled. My ear felt warm and full, like I'd gone swimming and had taken on a bunch of water.

  “Do you want to read it again, Tori? Yes, I suppose we can. Let's see what Melanie Mouse is up to today.”

  I stirred, more vigorously this time. Despite the distortion, I recognized the voice. It'd been a few years since I'd last heard it, but I had no doubts. It was definitely my mother. I smiled, but in my sleepy stupor I couldn't fully open my eyes or control my limbs.

  I felt her hand caress my head, comb through my hair. I could feel her warmth as she spoke. “And how is Melanie Mouse today?”

  The bed beneath me seemed to melt away, and for a moment I felt like I was floating in mid-air. The air was not so stiflingly warm anymore, but had grown pleasantly cool. My mother's hand continued to caress my head, and the smell of her old hand lotion even wafted by.

  I knew I was dreaming, but this felt like the real thing. “Read to me, mom,” is what I wanted to say. “Read me the book one more time.” I couldn't get my lips to move right, and the words left me in a dreamy jumble.

  Something tickled my earlobe. I could feel my mother tracing little circles around my ear with her finger. “I thought it would work,” she said, though this time her voice was a little firmer. It was closer, too, and I could feel her hot breath on my ear, on my neck.

  It smelled different than I remembered it, though. It was sour.

  “I thought it would stop. That I could take it with me in death. But I couldn't. It never stops. Never stops. Because death is not the end.” The words were rushing into my ear, making it sore. She was shouting, manic, breathless.

  And the voice wasn't my mother's anymore.

  The voice that spoke now was haggard, bereft of warmth. The speaker was so close to me that I could feel their lips, their tongue as they barked into my ear.

  “Because death is not the end. Death is not the end. I thought I could make it stop if I died, but I couldn't. It was futile. Death is not the end. It never stops. Death is--”

  I awoke in my futon, drenched in sweat and covered in gooseflesh. Though the dream was over and my faculties were now rapidly returning to me, I could still feel a leftover tingling about my earlobe, where I'd felt my mother touch it with her finger. I reached up to scratch and my palm made contact with something else entirely.

  Something small, oblong, sat upon my ear, and at my touch it began to scurry across my pillow.

  I damn near fell out of my bed, the room aglow in the light of morning, and watched as a small cockroach dashed onto the floor and disappeared around the kitchen bend.

  14

  “I don't understand,” began Sheldon as I let him into the apartment. First thing that day I called the landlord, informing him that I'd found a roach in my apartment. He was incredulous, and from the very first he insisted that no apartment of his had ever had bug problems. “Are you sure you didn't let it in... bring it from somewhere else? I had the entire building sprayed, top to bottom, not a month ago. I take this very seriously, so I simply can't believe that you've seen a pest in this room.”

  “No, I'm sure I didn't bring it in with me,” I replied. “It's not like I've been hanging around dumpsters or something. I was... I was asleep and I felt it when I woke up. It ran off, went towards the kitchen. I want you to do something. Call an exterminator, whatever. Otherwise I can call my dad, and--”

  Sheldon blanched. “No, no, of course I'll handle it. No need to bother your father with something like this, I'm sure he's quite busy. I'll call our guy up and he can come by to do an additional treatment.” The last thing Sheldon wanted was for my dad to get involved. He knew that my dad would never stand for a roach-infested hovel, and that if he caught wind of this incident, my lease would be as good as broken. Sheldon needed the money too much for that and was determined to make things right. “You say it went into the kitchen?” He walked past my futon, into the kitchen, and put on the light. Immediately his expression soured. “W-what's this?”

  I joined him. “What's the matter?” I asked.

  I didn't have to ask, though. The smell hit me at once, and I doubled back to the main room.

  The kitchen was a mess. I hadn't cleaned up after cooking the night before, but to look at the space you'd have thought that I'd let the dishes pile up for a week. The frying pan was thick with oil and blackened bits of garlic. There was a bowl with spoiled eggs and cheese in it sitting in my sink, and the pot I'd used for pasta was still full, the contents reduced to a congealed whitish liquid. The smell was intense. How I hadn't noticed it before then was a mystery to me.

  Sheldon palmed his bald spot and tried on a warm smile. “Listen,” he said, “I understand that you dislike bugs, however if you live this way...” He motioned to the kitchen. “Well, let's just say you're bound to invite them in. I must ask that you do a better job maintaining your apartment than this.”

  My face flushed with embarrassment. “It's... it's not like that, really. I usually keep things very neat and tidy. It's just that last night, I... I went to make some dinner and I didn't get around to the dishes.” I felt like a complete idiot trying to explain myself to the guy. And anyway, the food I'd left behind in the kitchen had seemingly gone nuclear overnight. As a college student I had some experience with leaving things out a little too long, with food spoilage, but the sights and smells in the kitchen were a world beyond. It was like I'd let it sit for a week.

  Peeved but doing his best to remain friendly, Sheldon assured me he'd send the exterminator in and excused himself, casting one last look into my wreck of a kitchen.

  I set about doing the dishes immediately. Throwing out spoiled food and getting all of the utensils cleaned, I was happy that the little pest from that morning didn't make an appearance. I scrubbed the pots and pans and shelved them, leaving the kitchen as clean as I could. “There,” I said. “It wasn't so bad.” Carrying my trash out to the dumpster, I heaved the bag in and rushed back inside to escape the searing sun. It was a real scorcher outside, and as I climbed the stairs to my room, I considered stopping to visit Ike. Wouldn't mind sitting in front of his fan for a little while, I thought.

  Late that afternoon, the exterminator dropped by. He was a husky middle-aged man, wearing denim overalls and dripping with sweat. He was friendly and talkative, telling me all about how he'd recently lost weight on some new, gimmicky diet plan—though from where the weight had gone on his chubby frame was a damned mystery—and about how he was getting paid “short notice pay” for coming by that day. He crawled on hands and knees all over my apartment, taking his big sprayer full of industrial pesticides with him into the kitchen, bathroom and all around the main space. He doused the baseboards, the insides of the cabinets, and even moved my appliances to give the harder-to-reach spots some coverage. When he was finished however, he took to scratching his greasy scalp and shrugged. “Miss, I'll be real honest with you, I didn't see a single roach in this here place. Not even a dead one. No signs of droppings or nothing, either. It's pretty strange. You sure you saw a cockroach? Cuz usually where there's one, there's a whole lot more.”

  “Pretty sure, yeah,” I replied, massaging the back of my neck. A dull ache grew up gradually behind my eyes and I sat down on my futon. I was pretty sure I'd seen a creepy crawly running across my pillow that morning, but then, I'd been seeing a lot of things as of late. There was no way to know if the cockroach had been genuine or if it, too, had been one of my
delusions. I seemed to be having a lot of those recently. “Anyway, thank you for coming by.”

  “Pleasure's all mine, young lady. Don't touch any of the sprayed surfaces for a bit. Give the stuff a while to dry. It's a good day to hit the swimming pool, I reckon.” He looked out my window. “Does this complex have a pool?”

  I grinned. “I wish.”

  The exterminator made his way out and I locked the door behind him. Then, opening the window all the way, I returned to the futon and tried to figure out how to best sort my day. I'd gotten up early, and after my ruined dinner and the morning's events, I realized I hadn't eaten in quite a while. Nothing in the apartment seemed appetizing though, and frankly I'd had enough of the place for a while. I wanted to get out, despite the heat.

  I texted both Annie and Julia to see what they were up to. Annie was busy, had gone shopping with her parents in Columbus for the day, but Julia proved open to making the drive to Moorlake to meet for lunch. I asked her, too, if she'd be willing to help me run an errand.

  The laundry hamper next to the shower was getting rather full, and so I packed my dirty laundry into a backpack and decided to kill two birds with one stone. There was a twenty-four hour laundromat down the street and a few small chain restaurants close-by. Julia agreed to stop off first at the laundromat so that I could get a few loads started.

  Forty minutes later, when I'd taken a quick shower and put on a T-shirt and jean shorts, Julia pulled up in her Honda, honking the horn loudly and sending me a text to let me know she'd arrived. I hauled my laundry out of the apartment and started down the stairs, meeting her in the parking lot. She let me place the bag of clothes in her trunk and then I plopped down into the passenger seat. “Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it,” I said. “Walking around today would be brutal; the forecast said we're up in the mid-90's today.”

  Julia nodded absently. She wasn't looking at me, but was looking up at the exterior of building 3, a puzzled look on her face.

  “What is it?” I asked after a time. I looked out at the building along with her, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

  “Did you say that the apartment above yours was empty?” she asked, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She had the air conditioning cranked way up, but had lowered her music—the soundtrack to some Broadway musical—around the time I'd climbed in.

  “Uh, yeah, why?”

  Julia frowned, giving her head a shake, and then put the car into drive. “No reason, I guess. I just could have sworn that I saw someone in that window a second ago.”

  My heart fluttered. “W-wait, what? In the fifth floor window?” I turned and looked up at the building as we exited the lot. The window to apartment 11 was in clear view, though from where I sat it looked completely empty. The blinds were closed and undisturbed.

  “I'm sure it was nothing,” she replied, turning her music up another notch. “So, where's this laundromat?”

  15

  The laundromat looked like the kind of place that had been under non-stop, twenty-four hour operation for way, way too long. The windows were grimy with what I took to be traces of soap, and many of the tiles in the floor had come up over the years, leaving unsightly pocks. Except for an elderly couple who were busy matching what appeared to be hundreds of socks, there was no one else in the place. Half the washers and almost all of the dryers were out of order; there were little handwritten signs on each one of the broken machines, some of them apparently quite old. Whoever owned the business apparently didn't come around much, or else didn't care that everything was busted.

  I selected two washers that appeared to work and rummaged around in my wallet for a couple of bills. Feeding them into the change machine—the most polished thing in the entire building—I came back with a handful of quarters, which I then slipped into the washers. I had a small container of detergent with me, and when I'd measured out two loads' worth of it and poured it in through the hatch in the top, I started them both up. They groaned to life, spinning and sloshing, and I slung my empty bag over my shoulder. “OK, now how about we get something to eat?”

  Julia was all too ready to get out of there. “Yes, please. And next time, I'll just bring you to my mom's house. You can do laundry there. This place is gross, Tori.”

  We left the grungy laundromat and walked down the street, slipping beneath awnings when we could to keep out of the harsh sun, and decided to visit a chain bakery. It was a cafe and restaurant, specializing in coffee, baked goods and lighter fare. We'd visited during what were typically lunch rush hours, but there were only a few tables taken in the entire place.

  I tell you, the gust of air-conditioned, bread-scented air was the most magical thing I'd experienced in quite some time.

  The two of us looked over the menu for a few minutes. Julia picked up a salad; I was hungrier and opted for a sandwich and soup. Though I attempted to pay for her meal, she stepped ahead of me and handed the cashier one of her dad's credit cards. “Seriously, don't worry about it,” she said. Minutes later we had our food and a couple of iced teas, and we selected a table for two near the windows.

  To our left there was a little section where plush chairs had been arranged near a small electric fireplace. Despite the hideous heat outside, the fireplace was on, and a silent flame danced around within the glass enclosure. I cracked some joke about it while digging into my food. The soup was a bit too hot to eat, but as it cooled I tore into my turkey sandwich like I'd never seen one before.

  Julia, though, was less enthused. She looked out the window at the quiet streets, sipping at her iced tea. “How are things, Tori?” she asked, dumping a packet of sugar into her glass and mixing it in with the straw.

  It was such a bland question I almost didn't know how to answer. What things, in particular, did she want to know about? “Things are good, I guess.” I took another bite, mulling it over.

  “With the apartment, I mean.” Julia picked up her fork but didn't actually eat anything.

  She must have caught the shiftiness in my eyes as I replied, “It's nice,” because she didn't buy it.

  “I don't know how you live there, Tori. I mean, after everything that happened? How can you stand it?” She speared a tomato and dragged it through a puddle of dressing. “No offense, but I don't really care to go in there again. Not after that night.”

  I set down my sandwich, nodding. “I know what you mean. It's not exactly a five-star accommodation. And, you know...” I trailed off, not sure how much I should actually tell her. Julia already hated the place; if I shared more about the building's past, or about my experiences in it, she would only urge me to move out. Which, of course, was the smart thing. I was increasingly considering it myself. Since moving into my room at the Lamplight, I'd become less gung-ho about summer classes. The idea of leaving that apartment behind, trying out the dorms again come fall semester, was becoming more alluring by the moment. “I'm working it out,” I finally finished. “It's just for the summer, right? When that class is over, I'll be out of there.”

  Julia propped her chin on her palm and ate a crouton. “Not to sound like Cat, but it gives me bad vibes, that place. Just... just driving up to it.” Looking to me earnestly, she added, “What do you think happened that night? I mean, really happened. With Cat? I've been... I've been thinking about it a lot. Every day, in fact. I just wonder if, you know, there wasn't something we could have done. Or, maybe, if I hadn't started taunting the spirit... if I hadn't interrupted things, well...” She gulped hard. Guilt was clearly chiseled across her fair features.

  I sighed, picking up the second half of my sandwich. “Uh... well, she ruptured an aneurysm.” I arched my brows and gave a weak shrug. “It wasn't like you reached in and tampered with the blood vessels in her brain, right? It wasn't anything you did, Julia.”

  “No, no. Not that. I mean, I know that. But... why? Why then, of all nights? You know... that look on her face. It's like she saw something, Tori. Don't you think?” When she'd worked over
a few bites of salad, she continued. “We shouldn't have been playing with that thing to begin with, but... even before we'd started that building had given me the chills. It's like... it's like playing in a graveyard. We couldn't have picked a worse place to mess around with that board.”

  Knowing what I knew about the building, about Evelyn from apartment 11, it was hard to disagree, but still I denied it. “Oh, come on. It's just an old building. It needs a fresh coat of paint, but... it's not that bad. Seriously. Stop worrying.”

  “I... I didn't want to say anything before, but...” Julia gave me this tender, broken little smile. It was the same kind of smile my mother would always give when she was worried. “You don't look well, Tori. Your eyes... you've got those dark circles, like you're barely sleeping. And you just look so tired. Distracted. I don't know. Are... are you sure everything is OK?”

  I chuckled. “Damn, that's what I get for not putting on makeup this morning, huh?” Julia blushed, probably worried that she'd offended me, but I smoothed things over. “It's hard, getting used to sleeping in a new place. And the room gets so warm without AC. But I'm doing fine, really.”

  There was silence after that. The two of us worked on our food, seldom making eye contact. I glanced out the window, marveling not for the first time at the dearth of people downtown. I read the signs of the businesses across the street. One, a florist; the next, an old-fashioned ice cream shop. And then something caught my eye in the alley between them.